Chapter 2
Marcus
I like routine.
It keeps me focused, grounded. Predictable. And when you spend a decade in the military, that kind of discipline becomes a second skin. You learn to crave structure because chaos is always lurking, and if you're not ahead of it, it'll swallow you whole.
So every morning, like clockwork, I stop by Seaside Sweets for a black coffee and whatever pastry Julie Harper pulls fresh from the oven. The place opens at six, and I’m usually there by 6:15, the bell chiming above the door as I step into the warmth and the sugary scent that clings to the air like a promise.
Julie’s always behind the counter. Dependable. Structured. Beautiful.
She’s all sunshine and energy—smiling at every customer like she means it, always with a smudge of flour on her cheek or in her hair. She talks fast, laughs easily, and remembers everyone's favorite treat. She knows Mr. Greene likes extra powdered sugar on his lemon bars. That Officer Nguyen prefers almond croissants but only on Wednesdays. That kids from the middle school love her chocolate chip cookies because she uses sea salt on top.
She knows I drink my coffee black and like the raspberry danish. But that’s all she knows about me.
We’ve never talked beyond my order. I keep it that way.
“Morning, Officer King,” she calls out as I walk in.
“Morning.”
“Got your danish ready—just pulled them from the oven.” She smiles, radiant and effortless. “And I even made extra this time. They go fast around here.”
She says it like we’re friends, like we’ve had whole conversations, but it’s just her way of giving great customer service. She treats everyone like they belong here. Like they matter.
I nod. “Thanks.”
She grabs a to-go cup, fills it without asking. “Busy day ahead?”
“Same as usual.”
She hands me my coffee and the warm pastry in a paper bag, her fingers brushing mine. She rings me up, her smile not fading for a second. “Will you ever try something else, or are you a creature of habit?”
“I like what I like.”
Julie laughs, the sound light and musical, and I feel it in my chest more than I want to admit.
“Well, if you ever change your mind, the peach turnovers are to die for. Be safe out there.”
I offer the barest twitch of a smile, take the bag and coffee, and head back out before I can do something stupid like ask her what time she closes.
Julie Harper is too bright. Too open. Too... alive.
People like her make me nervous. Not because there’s anything wrong with them, but because they remind me of everything I lost. Things I stopped believing I could have.
And yet, every damn morning, here I am.
“Still lurking outside the bakery like a lovesick idiot?”
I glance to my right. Jose Delgado is leaning against his cruiser, sipping a coffee, and grinning like he caught me doing something embarrassing.
“Don’t you have work to do?” I grumble, walking over.
He shrugs. “Dispatch is quiet. Figured I’d make sure you weren’t about to set up a shrine to Julie’s muffins.”
“Danish and it’s not funny.”
He smirks. “A little bit funny. Admit it, you’ve got it bad for the bubbly lady.”
I shoot him a glare. “I like the danishes. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh. And you go every morning for the danishes that you could just as easily buy at the gas station on Main?” He takes another sip. “Face it, man. She’s cute. She’s sweet. And you’re as subtle as a freight train. You should ask her out.”
“I don’t date,” I say flatly.
Jose sobers. “Yeah. I know.”
The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. Jose and I served in the same division but in different units. We met during a joint training op stateside, then reconnected in Pelican Point when I moved here after everything went to hell. He’s one of the few people who knows the truth about what happened during my last deployment. About the ambush. The bodies. The one I couldn’t save.
“I’m just saying,” Jose adds after a beat, “maybe it wouldn’t kill you to talk to someone who smiles when she sees you.”
“She smiles at everyone.”
“Yeah, but she glows when she talks to you. You really haven’t noticed?”
I don’t answer. I have noticed. Too many times.
But what the hell would I do with someone like Julie Harper, anyway?
She’s light and laughter and has her own business dreams. I’m smoke and broken pieces, stitched together with silence and duty.
“She deserves someone who doesn’t wake up at 2 a.m. sweating through the sheets,” I mutter.
Jose sighs. “Man, we all wake up sweating sometimes. Doesn’t mean you can’t try.”
Before I can respond, the radio crackles on his belt.
Dispatch: “Unit Two-One, possible disturbance reported at Bayside Marina. Caller reported loud voices, possible argument.”
Jose keys his mic. “Copy that. Two-One responding.”
He tosses his coffee into the bin and opens his cruiser door. “Are you heading back to the station?”
“Yeah.”
He nods. “See you at the briefing.”
I watch him drive off, then glance at the bakery window.
Through the glass, I can see Julie chatting with a mother and her toddler. She squats to the kid’s level, smiling as she offers a sample cookie. The boy’s face lights up. So does hers.
Yeah. She deserves someone who makes her glow like that and I’m not that guy.
Not now. Probably not ever.
But I’ll still come back tomorrow morning.
And the one after that.
Because even if I can’t have her, a little bit of borrowed sunshine helps keep the darkness at bay.
* * *
That afternoon, I’m in my garage, the doors rolled open to catch the warm breeze as I plane down a slab of oak for a new coffee table. Woodworking keeps my hands busy and my mind quiet—two things necessary for my peace of mind. The tools are arranged with military precision on the pegboard, and sawdust coats everything in a thin layer of calm.
I’m halfway through sanding when I hear sneakers scuffing the driveway. I glance up and see Jacob, the neighbor’s teenage son, hovering outside like he’s not sure if he should come in.
“Need something?” I ask, straightening.
He shrugs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “Just bored. Figured I’d see what you were working on.”
I nod toward the bench. “Oak table. Want to hand me the clamps?”
He grins and steps inside, grabbing the clamps off the wall like he’s been waiting for an invitation.
“Looks cool,” he says. “You make a lot of stuff?”
“When I’ve got time. Helps me think.”
We fall into a rhythm—me adjusting pieces, him helping to hold them steady—and after a few minutes, he says, “Hey, can I ask you something kind of… personal?”
I glance at him. “Shoot.”
“You were Army, right? Ranger?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been thinking about joining. After graduation.” He swallows hard. “But my mom… she’s alone, you know? It’s just the two of us. And I’m scared what’ll happen if I leave her.”
I lean against the workbench, wiping sweat off my brow. “That’s not a small decision. And it’s not one you make just because you’re bored.”
“I’m not,” he says quickly. “I want to serve. I want to make a difference. But I don’t know if I can leave her like that.”
“You love your mom.”
He nods.
“That’s a good reason to think twice. But serving doesn’t mean you stop being a son. It just means you find a new way to be one.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “Was it hard for your family?”
“I didn’t have much of one,” I admit. “Just me and my old man, and we weren’t close. But that’s why I get it. If you go, make sure she knows why. Make sure she knows she’s still your priority, even from miles away.”
He nods slowly, like he’s processing every word. “Thanks. I just needed to hear someone say it out loud.”
I clap a hand on his shoulder. “You ever want to talk about it more, come back by. I’ll teach you how to sand a joint the right way while we’re at it.”
His grin comes back. “Deal.”
As he heads off, I stare at the half-finished table and think about the things we leave behind when we serve. And what we find when we come back.
Some of us find a quiet garage. Some of us find a small town. And some of us…
Some of us find a bakery run by a woman with a laugh like sunlight and a smile that makes you want to be something more than a man with a badge and a past.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll try the damn peach turnover.